The Valley of Your Heart
by thetubfrances
Summary: "I'm better than I used to be, but not nearly as good as I want to be." Sebofsky, post-OMW, future stuff, happy ending.


"Hi, I'm here to see David Karofsky?" Sebastian gives the nurse a charming smile as he leans against the desk. The nurse keeps her eyes glued to her computer screen as she hands him a sheet of name tags and a marker.

"Write your name down on the tag with the smallest number. Put it somewhere visible, then wait here until one of the nurses comes for you."

Sebastian does as he's told, writing his name in large, even letters, then peels the tag off the sheet and sticks it to the left side of his jacket. He hands the sheet back to the nurse, who tosses it haphazardly back on her desk and resumes ignoring him. He turns to see a row of four chairs, and sits in the cleanest looking one. After about ten minutes, an eager looking young woman with a frighteningly wide smile comes to the set of doors at Sebastian's left, slides her ID badge through a scanner, then pushes open one of the heavy doors.

"You're here to see David, right?"

"Yes, I am," Sebastian replies as he stands. The nurse grins harder, something Sebastian didn't think was possible, then gestures for him to follow. He complies and allows her to lead him through a few nearly identical hallways before finally stopping at a door just like all the rest.

"Here we are!" The nurse chirps. Sebastian nods silently, knowing that if he opens his mouth he'll say something snarky. He really doesn't want to alienate this woman: she's just being nice, he's trying to be a better person, and if he's a jerk now, she might not help him find his way out of this place which would really suck because frankly, he doesn't remember how they got here. The nurse gives him a pat on the arm before continuing down the hall. Sebastian sighs, squares his shoulders, and knocks on the door.

"Come in," calls a voice. _David's _voice. Sebastian turns the doorknob and steps inside the room. There's nothing notable about it; it looks just like any other hospital room, though there are some flowers and balloons - even a few stuffed animals. Sebastian's eyes wander, taking in every detail they can before finally settling on the bed. Sebastian stares, his words temporarily stuck until eventually David shifts uncomfortably and speaks.

"You can sit down if you want," he gestures toward the chair. Sebastian drags the chair closer to the side of the bed, trying not to stare any more than he already has.

"I'm sorry," he starts at the same time David says "Who are you and how did you know where to find me?"

"Sebastian, Sebastian Smythe. We met at the bar? I begged Kurt to tell me where you were." David narrows his eyes until something clicks, because he then eyes Sebastian warily and shrugs. "No, really, I'm sorry," Sebastian repeats.

"I've heard that a lot the past couple of days."

"I don't doubt that."

"It doesn't really mean anything to me anymore."

"Oh," Sebastian looks down at his hands. (This is harder than he thought it would be, and he already thought it would be very difficult.) "I apologize, then."

"That means the same thing as sorry."

"Well, it's the best I've got. I'm not just another person saying sorry, I'm a guy who really screwed up and said some awful things that helped make you more miserable than you already were. I'm part of the reason you killed yourself."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"What?"

"I said, don't flatter yourself. I didn't even remember who you were. You didn't drive me to suicide or whatever you think you did."

"David, I-"

"Look, what do you want? Do you want me to forgive you? Do you want me to thank you for apologizing, or tell you that you're a good person for doing that? Because if you do, then fine: I forgive you, thank you for apologizing You're a good person for taking time out of your busy private school schedule and visiting the idiot who tried to kill himself because of some stupid things you said about his weight and eyebrows. Happy?" David sounds more sarcastic right now than anyone Sebastian has ever met. (He'd appreciate David's gall if he weren't on the receiving end of it.)

"I don't want any of that, I just want to apologize. I was a jerk, I know that now," Sebastian says honestly.

"Because I tried to kill myself. I'm glad I helped you realize what a jerk you were," David looks at the ceiling now, blinking quickly as his eyes become more and more damp. After about a minute, he clears his throat and returns his attention to Sebastian. "You can leave now."

"David, I really am sorry."

"You already said that."

"Yeah, and you don't seem to believe it," Sebastian counters.

"I wonder why," David shoots back. Sebastian closes his eyes for a few moments before returning his focus to David.

"I want to prove it."

"Prove what?"

"That I'm sorry. That I'm trying to be a good person. That you're not fat. And that your eyebrows suit you," Sebastian adds as an afterthought.

"Fine, how?"

"Coffee."

"Like a date?" It's just a question. It doesn't sound hopeful or suspicious or like it has any emotion attached to it at all, really.

Sebastian's not really sure if his answer is the truth or a lie or something in between the two. "No. Just coffee between ... acquaintances."

"Where?"

"How does the Lima Bean sound?"

"No," David says immediately. Sebastian is startled, but Dave continues before he can speak. "I don't want to run into anyone who might recognize me."

"Okay ... how about at Dalton?"

"That fancy prep school Kurt went to?"

"That fancy prep school I currently attend," Sebastian replies as he gestures to his uniform. "You know how to get there?"

"I'll figure it out. Are you allowed to just invite people there to have coffee with you whenever you want?" David asks.

"I guess so. Nobody's ever gotten in trouble for it," Sebastian shrugs.

"Fine," David says wearily. "Are you done now?"

"Are you expecting someone else?" Sebastian jokes.

"No," Dave responds, clearly annoyed. "I have group therapy in five minutes."

"Sorry," Sebastian mutters. "Oh, when do you want to meet?"

"Whenever."

"Will you be out by Wednesday at three?"

"Yeah."

Sebastian smiles, a small, genuine smile that feels almost foreign, before opening the door. "I'll see you on Wednesday, then," he says over his shoulder. David remains silent as Sebastian shuts the door behind himself. (To this day, he will deny doing a small happy dance in that hallway before searching for a nurse to lead him out. The doctor who was in the room across the hall, however, will gladly confirm it.)

...

Wednesday comes quickly, and before he knows it, it's two forty-five and Sebastian is standing in the parking lot waiting for David. He doesn't know if David is the type of person who shows up to meetings early or if he arrives fashionably late. It turns out that David is a very prompt person, driving in at five minutes before three. Sebastian stands near the curb and waits as David gets out of his car and walks over, then holds his hand out. David regards it carefully.

"You grab it with your right hand and then move it up and down," Sebastian supplies helpfully.

"I know how to shake hands," David sneers. "I just think it's pretty ga-stupid. It's stupid," he grimaces slightly at his misstep, but Sebastian pretends not to notice.

"It's polite, but you don't have to do it," Sebastian says as he drops his hand and puts it in his pocket. "Come on." He leads David up the steps and into the lobby before turning sharply down a wide hallway and walking straight into one of the many empty rooms.

"What do you take in your coffee?" He asks as David sits at one of the tables.

"Black is fine," David replies. Sebastian nods once and leaves the room, heading for the coffee shop. He orders a large black coffee for David and a large latte for himself, tips the cashier, and hurries back to the no-longer-empty room. He slows his pace as he strides into the room, not wanting David to know that he rushed (he didn't want their drinks to get cold, he will later rationalize to his ceiling). He sits carefully, leaning forward slightly to get David's attention.

"How are you?" He asks.

David sips thoughtfully at his coffee before answering. "Do you really care?"

"Yes," Sebastian replies, and he's never been more serious about anything in his life.

"Tough question."

"How so?"

"I'm better than I used to be, but not nearly as good as I want to be."

"Hm," Sebastian says.

"Weird, right?"

"Not at all," Sebastian assures him. David knits his eyebrows in confusion. "I know exactly what you mean."

"Why am I here, anyway?"

"Because you drove here?" Sebastian teases.

David glares at him. "Why did you want me to have coffee with you?"

"I already told you: I want to prove to you that I'm sorry, that I'm a good person, that you're not fat, and that your eyebrows suit you."

"How do you plan to do that? And what is it with you and my eyebrows, anyway? What did they ever do to you?" David is pouting a bit now, but Sebastian doesn't dare mention it. He'll tease him about it next time (not that he expects there to be a next time).

"I don't know yet. And, frankly, I'm jealous of your eyebrows."

"What?" David says. It hardly sounds like a question, but Sebastian figures that he's expected to elaborate.

"My eyebrows are large and kind of bushy. I wish mine were as nice as yours. There, happy?"

David stares at him in disbelief before bursting out in laughter. "Kind of, yeah."

"I'm glad. Now let's move on from my minor insecurities to the main event. What can I do to prove to you that I'm sorry?"

"I don't know," David says as he looks down at his coffee cup.

"Well, if you don't know, who does?"

"Can you not be sarcastic for like five minutes?"

"I'm sorry. I'm trying, really, I am. I'm just sort of new at this whole..." Sebastian makes a circular hand gesture, as if trying to pick the words out of the air, "being nice thing."

They're silent for a few moments before Sebastian speaks up again. "If I can't convince you today, I'll have to try again next week."

"Next week?" David asks curiously.

"Assuming, of course, that you would grace me with your company again?" Sebastian pastes on his charming smile, though he finds it comes more easily than usual.

"I don't know, man. I barely know you," David hesitates.

"All the more reason to have coffee with me again. We can both get to know each other better."

"I'll think about it," David says.

"How will I know what your answer is?"

"I'll text you."

They pull out their phones, handing them to the other person to tap in their respective numbers. Sebastian grins as his phone returns to his hands, because David has entered himself as "Dave", and that makes him think that they might almost be friends.

"I have to go now. My dad's probably worried."

"Of course," Sebastian says. They stand and Sebastian sticks his hand out once again. David takes it this time, shaking it firmly once, twice, and then retreating quickly.

"I'll let you know about next week," David repeats. Sebastian nods, his smile still firmly in place (he's still not used to the authenticity of it, but he doesn't miss the smirk that will inevitably return tomorrow). He watches as David leaves the room, and hopes that he can find his way out. He knows that they only went down one hallway, but he thinks that David getting lost would be a nice way to make sure their phones work. At this point he realizes that he's acting like a fourteen-year-old girl, so he promptly squashes his ridiculous thoughts and starts brainstorming how he might be able to convince David (or should he call him Dave?) that he's not out to get him.

...

On Wednesday morning, Sebastian gets a text message.

**From:** Dave

See you at 3.

Sebastian smiles to himself, trying not to panic at the realization that he still doesn't have a plan. It's very unlike him, he thinks, to not have a plan of some sort. He decides to play it by ear, even though that never goes over well. (He's already trained himself to forget that planning never really works out for him either.)

When they sit down to their drinks (Sebastian got them before David arrived this time, since he now knows his order), David is just as apprehensive as he was last week.

"I still don't get why you're doing this."

"Are you going to ask me this every week?" Sebastian snaps.

"This is the second time we've had coffee," David says, nose scrunching up in confusion.

"Right," Sebastian affirms quietly, more to himself than to David. "Sorry I yelled at you."

"You say sorry a lot."

"Only because I'm sorry a lot," Sebastian replies earnestly. "You don't like it when I say sorry."

"Only because nobody ever says it to me."

"I can't imagine that that's very true."

"Why not?" David asks gruffly.

"Because I think a lot of people owe you apologies."

"You don't know that."

"I know that you were bullied for who you are," Sebastian says, trying to sound unaffected when he's actually as far from unaffected as a person can possibly be.

"For like a day."

"It clearly bothered you a lot more than you're letting on."

"Stop pretending that you know me. You're freaking me out." David shifts uncomfortably, staring at his coffee cup. It's becoming a habit, and Sebastian doesn't like it; it's easier for him to have a conversation when both parties maintain eye contact.

"I know enough," Sebastian replies.

"I was expecting you to apologize again," David says as he looks up again.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Sebastian smirks.

David laughs at this, and Sebastian considers it another small victory.

"It's just ... Kurt's the only person who's ever been nice to me after knowing what-" David catches himself, amending his word choice quickly, "who. Who I really am, so I don't really trust you."

"I don't understand why people wouldn't be nice to you, even after knowing who you really are."

David shrugs. "That's just not what people do."

"Well, I'm not people, so I think you're safe."

"What?" David's eyebrows are knitted in confusion again, and Sebastian suppresses a smile.

"I'm not people," Sebastian repeats as he takes a sip of his latte.

"No, I heard you, I just don't understand what you mean," David tries again. (It frustrates David that he constantly has to clarify himself, but what's even more frustrating is that he's never clear enough in the first place.)

Sebastian heaves a long-suffering sigh and resists running a hand through his hair. He knew this would have to happen sometime: he's going to have to tell David all about who he really is and David is going to hate him. (He won't be upset about it, of course – not when he's expecting it already. He just hoped they would be able to know each other for a while longer before the truth came out.)

"Better you hear it from me than someone else, I suppose," Sebastian forces a smile. David looks at him curiously and he takes a deep breath before destroying his (almost) friendship with this (wonderful) boy. "_People_ do not have one night stands with men they meet in gay bars more often than they talk to their friends. _People_ do not have fathers who neglect their child by immersing themselves in work, and who begin outright ignoring their child when said child comes out as gay. _People_ do not have mothers who drink themselves into a stupor with expensive wine because their husband cheats and their child is a disappointment, though they can't quite remember why. _People_ do not chase after a boy who is already in a relationship solely to try to sleep with him, only to get turned down, keep pursuing him, realize they have feelings for the idiot, then accidentally injure him in the process of trying to do something relatively harmless yet ultimately still cruel to his boyfriend, resulting in the irreversible destruction of any possibility of a relationship. _People_ have friends, a family that loves them, and an unimpressive list of boring achievements that are unfailingly normal. I am not people. People are not me."

David's eyes are wide and he is staring, staring, _staring_ at Sebastian, boring holes with his eyes while Sebastian tries not to show how uneasy he feels. He takes another sip of his latte as David opens his mouth to speak, grimacing when the words get stuck.

"I understand if you don't want to meet me for coffee anymore. This was bound to happen sometime," Sebastian says. David is still gaping at him, and he finally lets his discomfort be known. "You can leave now. I won't hate you. It's better if you don't talk, though. There's nothing you could say to me that I haven't already heard, anyway."

"My mom hates me," David blurts.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "What?" (He underestimated David: this is something he hasn't already heard.)

"My mom hates me," David says again. "She thinks I have a disease and wants to send me away so I can be 'cured'," he spits out with a look of disdain. "My dad found me when I tried to hang myself. I think he hates me too, but he's too scared to say it because he's worried I'll try again. My friends stopped talking to me, the only person who cares about me is Kurt, but he feels to guilty to just treat me like a normal person. Part of that is probably because I told him I was in love with him and he turned me down, most of it is because he kept ignoring my phone calls. Before I tried to kill myself."

Sebastian waits for David to say more, but when it doesn't come he attempts nonchalance. "So?"

"_So_, I don't care how screwed up you are, I'm not going to stop coming here for coffee. I've already had a bunch of people stop caring about me because of who I am, why would I do the same thing to you?"

"You care about me," Sebastian smirks.

Dave blushes slightly. "I hardly know you."

"No, actually, you know me very well now."

David grunts and takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing because it's cooled off considerably and room temperature coffee is never very good.

"I care about you too, you know," Sebastian says, once again trying to sound casual.

"Why's that?"

"Someone has to."

...

When David leaves that day, Sebastian goes to his room to think. He thinks about the looming due date for his English paper, about his upcoming solo, about the two weeks worth of laundry in his cupboard.

Most of all, he thinks about David.

...

The next week, it seems they've run out of things to say to each other. There's not much more to know, which should probably scare Sebastian; nobody's ever known as much about him as David does. He imagines David feels the same way.

"Who did you have feelings for?" David asks, seemingly out of the blue.

"Blaine," Sebastian answers sourly.

"Kurt's boyfriend?"

"Yes," Sebastian sighs, clearly annoyed.

"Huh," David says.

"What?"

"We're..." David pauses, searching for the right words.

"Quite a pair?"

"Sure," David concedes.

"Why, what were you going to say?"

"Really messed up."

"Mm, that too," Sebastian agrees.

...

Sebastian starts receiving text messages from David. They start off as little requests for confirmation of their meetings (not dates, Sebastian has to remind himself more and more frequently) and evolve into random thoughts that Sebastian gobbles up like a starving man.

**From:** Dave

My umbrella just got turned inside out by the wind.

(Sebastian receives this one on a particularly rainy day.)

**From:** Dave

I wish I had a dog.

(This one comes on the first day the temperature climbs above 60 degrees.)

**From:** Dave

Flowers suck.

**From:** Dave

I take it back. Purple lilacs are nice.

(These ones arrive on the first official day of summer and within fifteen minutes of each other. Sebastian reads everything he can about purple lilacs. He finds that they mean "first emotion of love". He wonders if it's a coincidence.)

...

Their twentieth coffee meeting (they're not dates, they're _not_) is this week, and Sebastian wonders if it would be strange to commemorate it somehow. He wonders if he should even care. He decides to ask Dave.

**To:** Dave

This week is our 20th meeting. Want to do something special?

He feels nervous as he waits for the reply and hates himself just a little bit. He won't do this again, he _won't_. He's perfectly capable of having male friends who are gay and not trying to date them, he _is_. He needs to prove to everyone that he is. (He ignores the fact that nobody else cares and fails to convince himself. He's started to disappoint himself now. He understands his parents a little bit more now.)

**From:** Dave

Sure, what did you have in mind?

He doesn't let out an undignified squeal, because that is not the Smythe way. Instead, he eagerly taps out a reply (_How about dinner?_) and tries to suppress a grin.

**From:** Dave

Tell me when and where and I'll be there.

(Sebastian won't stop smiling for the rest of the day.)

**To:** Dave

How about Breadstix? Wednesday at 7? We'll skip the coffee.

**From:** Dave

Sounds great.

(He forgets until that night that Breadstix is probably not the best idea. He smiles again when he remembers that David agreed anyway. He wonders why he did. He falls asleep before he can over-analyze everything.)

...

Suddenly it's Wednesday again and Sebastian realizes just how much of his life seems to happen on Wednesdays. The other days of the week are still there, he knows they are, but everything seems stuck at a standstill until Wednesday. He tries not to think about it as he tosses yet another shirt onto his bed in frustration.

He settles on a dark teal blue button up that makes his eyes stand out. He tries to convince himself that he's only trying to look nice because the restaurant is sort of upscale. (He fails this time, too.)

He arrives ten minutes early, and is surprised to find that David is already there. He heads for the table, seats himself directly across from David, and grins.

"You're early."

"So are you," Dave replies with a smile.

"You usually arrive for coffee five minutes early," Sebastian says as he scrunches his nose in confusion.

"Yeah, well..." Dave trails off, a slight blush staining his cheeks. Sebastian pretends not to notice and picks up his menu.

"What are you going to get?"

"I hear the bread sticks are good," David responds. Sebastian laughs at this, and David smiles slightly. "Seriously, this girl I dated for a while was obsessed with them."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "Girl?"

"We were beards," David says shyly.

"You mean she was your beard."

"No, I was her beard too."

"I don't know whether I should congratulate you or shake my head in amusement."

"She was very pretty if that helps. Cheerleader and everything."

"I guess I'll congratulate you, then."

They turn to their menus and Sebastian tries not to glance at David every few seconds. He succeeds for the first minute or so, but eventually he can't resist. He stares for longer than is strictly necessary, and David blushes again. (He's really starting to love that he can make David to that.)

"What?" David asks curiously.

"Nothing," Sebastian says, his own cheeks turning pink.

Dinner is eventful and uneventful all at once. They eat their meals (spaghetti and meatballs for David, lasagne for Sebastian), talk about everything from movies to school (Sebastian talks about Dalton, David listens; _Titanic_ is overrated), and argue over who's going to pay the bill (Sebastian wins because he's faster with his credit card than David is with his cash). As they walk out into the brisk night air, Sebastian turns to David.

"I had a lot of fun tonight."

"So did I," David replies.

"We should do this again."

"What would we celebrate?"

"Who says we have to celebrate?" Sebastian challenges.

"Well, that's why we had dinner tonight, right?" Dave asks.

"Yes, but I was hoping that we could do it again without having to celebrate anything."

"Like a date?" David asks, and it's so unlike the first time he asked this question it's scary. It's loaded with something Sebastian can't identify, and that terrifies him. (He doesn't want to screw this up, but he doesn't want to lie. He doesn't even know if lying would screw it up or not. He hates uncertainty, always has.)

Sebastian closes his eyes. "Yes?" He breathes.

"Sebastian..." Dave says in a warning tone.

"David," he replies, and he doesn't recognize his own voice. He's _pleading_. (This is the trade-off, apparently: he can make David blush, and David can make him beg.)

"You said the coffee meetings weren't dates."

"Dinner isn't coffee."

"Sebastian," David repeats.

"David," he whispers brokenly. (He's not going to cry, he's _not_.)

"I can't date you."

"Why not?"

"I'm to screwed up to date anyone."

"I'm screwed up too," Sebastian protests.

"I can't do this."

"David," Sebastian says again. He's crying now. (He hates himself for it.)

"I should go."

"Lilacs," Sebastian whispers.

"What?" David freezes.

"Purple lilacs."

"What about them?" David's trembling now, and Sebastian doesn't know if it's from the cold or not. (He hates not knowing things.)

"They mean 'first emotion of love'."

"So?"

"You said purple lilacs are nice."

"They are," David says as he turns around.

"That can't have been an accident," Sebastian wheedles.

"Maybe it was."

They stand there, in the parking lot at Breadstix, watching each other warily. (It feels like a romantic comedy somehow, yet it's missing both elements.)

"You can't tell me that you don't feel something for me," Sebastian says.

"I didn't say I don't," David argues.

"Then why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because you brought up the lilacs."

Sebastian laughs humorlessly. "Please don't do this to me," Sebastian pleads. "Don't do this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Exactly," Sebastian counters. He takes a tentative step forward. David steps back. (Sebastian's heart breaks just a little bit more.) "You deserve to be happy."

"_You_ deserve to be happy," David says.

"This would make me happy."

David sighs, rapidly blinking back tears.

"Listen to me, David. I sound like one of those hyper-emotional female protagonists from a romantic comedy. I hate this but it's the only thing I can think of that can convince you to give me a chance. Give _us_ a chance."

"It's not working," David says. Sebastian can see his tears now, and figures that he's either doing something right or doing something wrong. (He hates how uncertain Dave makes him feel.)

"I hate how uncertain you make me feel," Sebastian says. (He didn't mean to say that out loud.) "I didn't mean to say that out loud," he gasps.

"So you hate me," David says. The first tears fall. (Sebastian doesn't know whether or not he should hate himself for doing that yet.)

"No, I hate that you make me uncertain. I hate that you can make me cry like this. I hate that I'm making you cry right now. I hate that you blush when I say something clever. I hate that you make _me_ blush. I hate that you laugh when I try to be funny. I hate that you make me laugh. I hate that I sound like that girl from that movie where she makes a poem about the guy she loves in which she overuses the word "hate". I hate that you can make me beg. I hate that I have to convince you to go on a date with me. I hate that I just lied to you. It wouldn't be _a_ date. It would be a series of dates. We might end up dating for a long time. Being boyfriends. Moving to another state. Moving in with each other. Getting engaged. Getting married. Buying a dog. Buying a house-with a lilac bush. Adopting kids."

David's staring at him now, and Sebastian's pretty sure he's scared off the only person's he's ever really liked (loved). "That's ... a lot to ask."

"I'm sorry," Sebastian whispers. David looks around carefully, searching for something (people, Sebastian thinks). When he doesn't find it, he takes a step closer to Sebastian. Sebastian feels a trembling finger brush against his cheek, and he pushes into the touch slightly. (He hates himself for it.)

David shifts his hand so it cups Sebastian's cheek. "I guess we should get started," he says. Sebastian's eyes are shining with something different now, something joyous and hopeful. (He doesn't feel like himself anymore. He's pretty sure that's a good thing.)

...

"Will you be my boyfriend?" David asks tentatively as they watch the clouds on a hazy summer afternoon.

"Of course," Sebastian replies.

...

"I got into Stanford!" Sebastian yells. (He's never been this excited before.)

"Congratulations," Dave replies warmly.

"Well?" Sebastian asks.

"What?" Dave grins slyly.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow and David cracks. "I got into University of California."

"That's amazing, Dave," Sebastian beams before throwing his arms around David and kissing him fiercely. When they finally pull apart, they're both flushed and smiling.

"Looks like we'll be moving to California," David says.

"Looks like," Sebastian agrees.

...

"Dave?"

"Yeah?" David looks up from the movie at Sebastian, who seems to be thinking hard about something.

"You're graduating tomorrow."

"Yeah..."

"I'm still going to be in school for a few years."

"I know."

"Want to move in with me?"

"What?" David asks, his eyes large and round.

"Well, my parents pay for this place since it keeps me away from home, and you basically already live here, so..."

"Yeah. Yes. I'll move in with you."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Me too."

...

"Seb?"

"Hm?" Sebastian looks up from his food at David, who is currently fiddling with his tie.

"I, uh, I've known you for a long time now, and I love you more than anyone I've ever known. We've been living together for a while, and since it's legal here now, I was wondering if," he slides out of his seat and onto the floor, balancing on one knee, "you'd marry me?" He pulls out a box containing a wide silver band with diamonds embedded in it.

"Oh my god," Sebastian says, and then he starts laughing. David's face falls.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he pockets the ring again. "I just thought-"

"No, Dave, it's not that. It's just-" he starts giggling again as he pulls a small velvet box out of his pocket, then flips it open for David to see. It's a ring very similar to the one David bought. It's now that David begins to laugh as well. Eventually, when they calm down, they slide the rings onto each other's fingers and twine their now adorned hands together. (This is much more exciting than Stanford.)

...

"I do," David says, and then he and Sebastian are kissing in front of all their friends and a few relatives (their parents refused to come).

Sebastian's drunk aunt Lydia's speech will be one of the highlights of the reception, second only to the grooms' first dance. (David and Sebastian will end up seeing it for the first time a few days later on the video, because while aunt Lydia's making her speech, they're having sex in the bathroom.)

...

"Dave?"

"In the living room!" David calls back.

"Shh," Sebastian scolds the box in his hands. He carries in to where David is sitting on the couch, going over the game highlights and scribbling away in his notebook. "I brought you a present," Sebastian says.

"Oh, really?" David asks, his face brightening. Sebastian lifts the box slightly to prove that yes, he did, and it barks.

"Shut up," he hisses. David stares at it with wide eyes.

"No..." David says, bouncing slightly in his seat with anticipation. The box barks again.

"Damn it! I told you to be quiet!" Sebastian snaps at the box. He opens the lid with a sigh and a rather large puppy pokes his head out.

"Oh my god," David says with disbelief. He stares at the puppy, before allowing his gaze to travel to Sebastian. "You got us a dog?"

"I got _you_ a dog. I have half a mind to ignore him for the rest of my life because he clearly can't follow _simple instructions_," Sebastian says scathingly as he turns his attention to the puppy.

"Don't be mean to him," David coos as he picks up the puppy, "he was just excited."

"I don't make noise when I'm excited."

"No, you usually end up smiling so wide your mouth opens a little and kissing me a lot. Also, you're not a dog."

Sebastian scowls.

(He ends up falling in love with that dog despite his best efforts. They name him Scout.)

...

"I love it," David whispers.

"Shh, don't let her hear you. We want to get a good price," Sebastian responds quietly. David nods seriously as Sebastian speaks to the real estate agent.

"Could you show us the backyard?"

"Of course," the agent grins. (She reminds Sebastian of the overly chipper nurse he met the day he visited David in the hospital. He wonders if her face hurts at the end of the day from smiling too much.)

They follow her to the backyard and observe it from the patio. It's fairly large, with thick grass and a white picket fence (it's so cliché but so perfect). David smiles when he sees the purple lilac bush on the left side. He rubs Sebastian's arm to get his attention and points to the bush. Sebastian freezes, then turns to the agent.

"We'll take it."

...

"They're going to be here any minute! Here, let me straighten your tie," David says.

"Dave, calm down. You've straightened my tie six times. It's not going anywhere. Come sit with me."

"I'm just so excited," David says quickly.

"I know," Sebastian says as he pats David's knee, "but you're really freaking me out because you're acting exactly like Scout and I can hardly tell you two apart right now."

"Hey," David pouts, pretending to be hurt.

"Hey yourself," Sebastian replies as he sticks out his tongue. The doorbell rings and David's standing instantly.

"They're here," David whispers loudly.

"Shh, I know. Let's go get the door," Sebastian says as he pulls himself up off the couch. They head for the door, but before Sebastian can turn the knob, David's pulling his arm.

"Wait," David says.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian asks.

"Do I look okay?"

"You look great," Sebastian assures him with a kiss. He opens the door and they're face-to-face with a stern looking woman – Mrs. Klein the social worker.

"David and Sebastian Karofsky-Smythe?"

"Yes, ma'am," David says excitedly.

"Sarah?" Mrs. Klein says as she reaches behind her. A small girl steps timidly around Mrs. Klein's legs.

"Hi," Sarah whispers shyly.

"Hi," David replies, his face bright.

"I'll be back in one week to check on you," Mrs. Klein says, "make sure everyone's situated comfortably and whatnot."

"Thank you, Mrs. Klein," Sebastian says. (He knows that thank you will never be enough. Sarah is worth more than a billion thank yous.)

"You're welcome," she says curtly as she turns on her heel and walks back to her car. Sebastian closes the door and goes to join David, Sarah, and Scout in the backyard.

...

That night, when everyone else is asleep, Sebastian will go to the living room and watch the sky from the front window. He will ask the moon and the stars and anyone who's listening in that moment what he did to deserve all of this. He will only be there for about five minutes before David will wrap him up in his arms, coaxing him back to bed. He will drift off to sleep realizing that they have done everything he hoped they would when he was seventeen. (He will never get an answer to his question. He doesn't need one.)


End file.
